


A Tiny Screen's The Only Place I See You Now

by Kiros18



Category: Call Me By Your Name - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Childhood Memories, Flowers galore, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, M/M, Small Town Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-16 02:14:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 16,738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28698990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kiros18/pseuds/Kiros18
Summary: Oliver owns a flower shop in the small town he grew up in.Elio is a rising star, world-famous for his acting talent.Or, the one where Elio and Oliver grew up in the same town but their lives took different directions and Oliver never stopped pining.Inspired by dorothea by Taylor Swift.
Relationships: Oliver/Elio Perlman
Comments: 22
Kudos: 78





	1. Chapter one

Using the inside of his worn-down white Stan Smith, Oliver pushes a door stop in front of the wide-open door. It’s creaky noise already followed by the fresh, chilly morning air rushing in.

Turning around and squatting, he takes hold of a rather large sized blue ceramic pot and lifts. He straightens his spine, trying to remember how to do this the ergonomic way. Walking out the door, head bend sideways in order to look around the big orange chrysanthemum in his arms, Oliver tentatively descends three steps before he stands on the curb in front of his flower shop. As he leans back down -instead of squatting- he feels a pull in the middle of his back, reminding him why he needs to lift these heavy things the right way. When he’s satisfied with the way the chrysanthemum is placed next to the cyclamens and the red skimmia, Oliver brushes off his hands on his brown leather apron and twists back and forth until he gives up on relieving his back.

Placing his hands on his hips, he breathes in deep, head bend back and eyes closed. The autumn air smells like fresh rain, the streets still wet from this night’s downpour.

Opening his eyes, Oliver takes in the morning bustle of Saint Orobie. It’s a small town placed by the foot of mountain Orobie. It never ceases to amaze Oliver when he looks up at the white, snow-covered peak, everything around it seeming smaller in contrast. Looking at the old houses with multicoloured facades and sloping roofs, Oliver is almost convinced that the town must be as old as the mountain.

It sure does feel like everything down here has been the same since the beginning of everything. Oliver doesn’t mind though. He feels comfortable in the safety of the way this town works, finds safety in routines and the knowledge that he can count on most people around him. It’s enough for him. He decided that years ago, when he had a choice between moving back after finishing college or finding his own ways in a strange big city. Even though his past reasons for his decision had included another person, he still doesn’t regret anything.

“Morning Mr. Oliver,” a chorus of small voice says, accompanied by the chiming of bicycle bells. “Good morning kids,” Oliver answers, waving at the kids on their way to school.

Walking back inside Fancy Plants, Oliver is ready to get back to the tasks of the day. Moving through the already open door, Oliver stops when Emily, his only -but very much trusted- employee walks directly towards him. Arms full of small pots containing various housesleeks, Emily blows a strand of hair out of her face. “Want them outside?” she asks.

“Yeah, just place them on the wooden folding ladder,” Oliver answers, pointing in the general direction, before he walks out to the back.

He loves his small shop, and he loves talking to the locals who come in to buy potted plants, perennials and bouquets and when the occasional tourist or visitor comes by, he enjoys that too. Even though the front of the shop is light with high ceilings and flowers everywhere, Oliver still prefers being in the back. Prefers the company of his own thoughts while he replants cyclamen and dahlia. Enjoys the quiet hum of the air conditioner keeping the room cool, as he combines stalks of roses, lily-of-the-valley and cornflower. It’s why he got the shop in the first place -to create beauty and feel happy all the while making money.

If business school ever taught him anything, it’s that knowing your way around advanced excel sheets and complicated figures can be a good thing, but they won’t bring him happiness.

Running his hands along the long wooden table pushed against the wall opposite the door, Oliver scans the room. His red garden shears are placed in the middle of the table, a roll of flax string next to it. Along the wall are small plastic buckets, small bags ready to be filled water and a burner. Next to the door stands an over dimensioned refrigerated cabinet, its glass-doors showing off shelve upon shelve of fresh cuts. Oliver is sure he feels a small boost of happiness every time he looks at the colourful array.

Opening the glass-doors, Oliver scans his choices. It’s the middle of October, which means the town getting ready for Halloween. Picking out a bucket of orange, red, yellow and green flowers and leaves, Oliver gets to work.

On some days, he prefers standing in silence. Today, he turns on the small radio sitting on the shelve above his head. Turning the volume down a bit, he lets the airy tunes of a piano stream throughout the room, accompanying his stream of consciousness.

By the time the radio channel has started playing some new pop tunes instead of the classical piano pieces, Oliver has been standing by the table for hours. When the chime of the bell by the front door sounds, Oliver ties the flax string around the bouquet he’s currently working on one last time. “I’ll get it!” he calls out, figuring Emily must be somewhere not too far away.

Walking out front, Oliver’s heart stumbles a little, his pulse on the verge of picking up before his body remembers how unnecessary it is. Blaming inconvenient stimulus-respond on his silly reaction, Oliver smiles a big smile. “Annella, what do I owe the honour?” Oliver says, coming to a stop behind the cashier.

“Oh, Oliver. Always the flattering one,” Annella laughs, waving a hand in his direction. “I came to see if you have any Christmas flowers.”

“We sure do,” Oliver says, walking around the cashier, crossing the room when he stands in front of a table filled with the flower. “How many?”

“Two is good,” Annella answers. Holding a flower in each hand, Oliver crosses the room again, thankful that his hands are completely steady. He feels childish with the way he still reacts to seeing Elio’s parents. His guess is that his heart is just so used to a time when the presence of the boy’s parents would equal the boy too. But it hasn’t been like that in a long time, and Oliver repeatedly needs to remind himself that Elio has probably grown into an adult man by now, seeing as Oliver has too.

“How are you?” Oliver asks. “Samuel treating you alright?” bending down, Oliver proceeds to find a paper bag big enough to fit the flowers without breaking off any pedals. “Oh, you know how he is, always so busy with the next big project,” Annella says, pulling out her purse. “But we’re doing good, thank you. Viminiis still traveling but I’m sure you know that already -oh, and Elio said he might come by soon, but who knows with that boy. Always so busy.”

The last part makes Oliver’s heart stumble again, this time so violently his hands are shaking as he pushes the paper bag towards Annella.

It’s not like Oliver didn’t know that the possibility was there. In fact, he spent the first year after Elio’s departure waiting for the day it would happen, until he forgot to hope and just started accepting the way things were. He knows Elio has been home since that time -Annella had mentioned it in her haste, much like now, and Samuel had bragged, in his own subtle, forgivable way about his son inviting them to the big city to watch him play in a show. This time though, is the first time Oliver has been warned beforehand. Warned might be a strong word -provided that Oliver has been as discreet about his silly childhood crush as he thinks he has- Annella doesn’t suspect a thing. She probably told Oliver about this without much hope that Oliver is even interested in her son’s whereabouts. 

“That sounds nice,” Oliver smiles, hoping that Annella won’t be able to spot his sudden fidgeting hands, the warmth in his cheeks. “Say hi to Samuel from me—oh, and remind him about his privet, it needs to be trimmed before the cold sets in, just in case he forgot.”

“You know him, he probably forgot the thing is even there. Thank you, Oliver. See you around!” Paper bag in hand, Annella leaves the shop, making the bell above the door chime again.

Shoulders slumping, Oliver blows out a lungful of air, feeling like he’s about to deflate completely. He’s being dumb. Even if Elio does come back to Saint Orobie, Oliver most likely won’t even see him. He always misses him, and even if they were to stumble upon each other, Elio would probably not even recognise Oliver. It’s been years, after all.

Aimlessly wiping down the already clean counter, Oliver stares blindly at nothing. Groaning at his own stupidity, he drops the cloth on the counter and leaves for the back again. This time, he turns off the radio.

In spite of just having turned twenty-eight and knowing that the odds are very much against him, Oliver doesn’t forget about Annella’s words. In fact, he spends the following week on constant look-out.

Every time he hears the bell chime at the shop, he yells out to Lily that he’ll get it. Every time someone with a haircut that reminds him of Elio walks by, Oliver feels a shock of electricity shoot through him. When he meets Annella at the store on Friday afternoon, he barely catches himself before he starts looking around franticly, searching for a younger, taller version of her. She doesn’t mention anything about Elio again, and when Oliver glances at her shopping cart, it looks like it only contains stuff for two people. As usually.

That doesn’t stop him though, from still looking out for the boy he went to kinder garden and elementary school with. The young man he went to high school with.

Twenty-eight years old, and he’s still looking out for someone he wasn’t even that close with to begin with. But Oliver likes to think that all the years living in the same town, going to the same school, scraping their knees at the same playgrounds, smoking in the same corners, matters.

Even if they only matter to himself, Oliver will be alright with that. It is, in fact, the only consolation he has when he finds himself wallowing in the blues of melancholia.

By the end of the week, he’s about to cross the main street when he thinks he spots Elio on the opposite curb. It’s a tall, skinny figure with wild dark hair, and Oliver forgets where he is for a second. Coming to a sudden halt, he watches the person disappear behind a building at the same time as someone curses loudly. “Hey, watch out!”

Zoning back out of the mirage, Oliver realizes that he’s standing in the middle of the bicycle path. “Sorry, sorry!” he hurries, getting out of the way. Shaking his head, Oliver tries to calm down his heart. He needs to pull himself together. This is ridiculous. Elio probably doesn’t even remember him.

At night, when Oliver is in bed, the thin white curtains by the window billowing in the chilly autumn night air, Oliver rummages through his memories.

He’s not sure, but he thinks it must’ve happened about five years ago. He’d just returned from college, young and ready to begin his adult life. He and Matthew had just gotten their first apartment together, a small one, just down the street from Fancy Plants. Oliver had still thought that he was going to be crunching numbers in his father’s firm while Matthew was going to teach at the local high school. Oliver huffs at the memory. He loves his father, very much at that, but the two of them had learned very early on that they shouldn’t be sharing a workplace. Let alone be boss/employee.

But yeah, about five years ago. Oliver remembers how the late summer had graduated into early autumn. Remembers how the trees had gained the same colors and warm hues as they have now, before he really noticed. Right now, he doesn’t know how he had managed to go for weeks, possibly more than a month, before he’d noticed that Elio was gone. In addition to that, it had taken him a whole week to ask Viminiwhere her little brother was.

Lying here, in his bed, in this town, Oliver feels a weird sort of sorrow when he remembers how Viminihad proudly stated that Elio had gotten a part in a show -a big production at that too. How she had told Oliver, as if it was the best thing to happen in the world, that if things went well for Elio, he would be starring in a movie too after the play. So, naturally, he had moved away from Saint Orobie in favor of the big city. It was an incredible, once in a lifetime opportunity.

Oliver doesn’t need to dig deep in order to retract the blooming feeling of disappointment that had filled his chest that day, five years ago. Of course, he had nothing but well-wishes for Elio. Oliver had a boyfriend himself to think about, a new life just waiting to begin. He had swallowed down the heavy feeling and shared Vimini ’s happiness. In secret, he’d shared her pride too.

Oliver never lets himself think too much about the fact that Elio Perlman, first love of Oliver Campbell, broke his heart that day. How he hadn’t even said a thing to Oliver, and every time that thought pops into Oliver’s head, Oliver shoves it away. Elio never owed him anything. To Elio, Oliver is just some kid. If Elio even remembers Oliver, it would be because of Oliver being that tall blonde kid that handed out porn-magazines behind the library building.

Come to think of it, Oliver would rather have Elio forget about him completely.

When Oliver wakes up, the light is already streaming through his windows. Sighing, he blinks his eyes open. It’s the time of the year where the sun never rises all the way up on the sky, always staying down at level with Oliver. Sometimes, Oliver catches himself driving his car, internally cursing the sun for getting in his eyes. He always follows up with an apology though -in this town, you have to be thankful when the sun is out. It might as well sleep in the next day, as if offended by someone’s pettiness.

Stretching his legs, Oliver’s feet slip out from the bottom of his comforter, the cold air hitting his warm skin. He won’t stay in bed for long, no matter how tempting it is. Sunday is his only day off and whenever he has spent half such a day in bed, he has always ended up regretting it. So, with one final groan, Oliver gets out of bed, his feet hitting the pale wooden floorboards. They creek beneath his feet as he crosses to his dresser and the sound is just as much a part of his morning routine as getting dressed and making coffee.

Feeling warm and comfy, Oliver makes quick work of making the bed. Smoothing out the white sheets, making them line up with the wooden frame beneath, Oliver already feels the first boost of satisfaction. Next, he draws the curtains away from the window, letting even more sunshine through. The air blowing through the open, barred windows makes the room crisp and fresh, the temperature teetering on the edge of cold. Just the way Oliver prefers it.

The bathroom is covered in white tiles, the old terrazzo floor warm from the central heating Oliver had had installed when he bought the place. He had kept the old house in the outskirts of the town in its original shape on purpose. The electrical installations and copper water pipes had been the only things needing real renovation. The rest, Oliver had fixed over time, such as painting the walls and changing a few dotted windows.

The free-standing bathtub in the bathroom had been there when he moved in. Washing his hands in the washbasin standing on a wooden table, Oliver splashes his face too, before blindly grabbing a towel.

The kitchen is much the same as the rest of the house. Authentically old, but up to date and functioning. The wooden doors of the cabinets had been a depressing brown color with bleached stains on them when Oliver had bought the house. He couldn’t make himself get rid of them. With a lot of sandpaper, off-white paint and new handles, Oliver had made them look rather good, if he is to say so himself. 

As the coffee is brewing, Oliver leans against the counter, staring out at the atrium filled with potted trees, hanging plants and sprouting boxes of wildflowers. He considers bringing his breakfast outside to the blue café table but decides against it. Even though the sun is doing its best at tempting him, he knows the wind won’t be as mild as he wants it to be.

Instead, he checks on the cacti standing in the windowsill, making sure they aren’t overwatered or too dry. Then, he pours himself a cup of coffee and takes a seat on one of the two chairs standing by his small kitchen table.

As he sips his coffee, Oliver’s thoughts stray again, as they usually do. He had been so sure, yesterday, when he thought he’d seen Elio. He probably hadn’t. Oliver isn’t even sure that he’d be able to recognize Elio if he was standing right in front of him. Not that Oliver doesn’t have a clue about how Elio looks by now -he does, maybe too much- but Oliver likes to believe that Instagram and paparazzi photos don’t serve Elio justice.

Pulling out his phone, Oliver curls his body forward, elbows on the table, feet and legs tucked beneath his chair. As if his body is subconsciously protecting a secret.Pulling up the search bar on Instagram, Oliver knows he should be embarrassed that elioperlmanis on top of his latest searches but he’s not. The embarrassment sort of faded out over the past couple of years. Or maybe it just stopped abruptly, when he became single.

Oliver taps the name, holding his breath for a second. Whether it’s in the hopes of a new picture, a new story or in the fears of exactly that, Oliver doesn’t know. Today, there is nothing. Oliver expected that. Sometimes, there can be months of dry spells on Elio’s accounts, and sometimes it’s as if a floodgate has broken and Oliver will be left lightheaded while clutching his phone.

Come to think of it, maybe he is bit embarrassed. A telltale sign, is the button at the top, saying “follow.” Oliver knows it’s stupid, but he doesn’t have the balls to press it. Doesn’t have the courage to risk being discovered. He’s nervous that Elio will recognize his account – OliverCampbell95 isn’t a very disguising name.Nervous that Elio will remember him and judge the content on his account or worse -he’ll think that he’s being stalked by old high school acquaintances, who god forbid it, tries to freeload on his fame. Oliver doesn’t want that. Maybe, just maybe, Oliver is nervous that Elio will recognize him and not follow him back, which is ridiculous.Elio’s got eleven million followers while only following 97 people back. Even if he recognized Oliver, he wouldn’t have any reason to follow him back.

Sighing, Oliver stretches and browses the rest of his social media accounts. It’s not until an article with the headline “Elio Perlman spotted cozying up with fellow female co-star” pops up on his screen, that Oliver puts the phone completely away. Cursing himself for ruining his own algorithms, Oliver gets up from the chair. He’s got a whole list of things to do today, and none of them includes pinning after Elio.

A couple of days later, Oliver parks his truck on the town square in the middle of the town. Getting out, he greets the greengrocer, Mr. Cohen. Today, his booth contains a colorful array of vegetables. Cabbages, potatoes, carrots with green tassels and corn all lined up, ready to be sold.

While setting up his own booth, Oliver makes light conversation with Susan Adams, Emily’s mom. Her booth is across from Oliver’s, containing all sorts of knitted hats, gloves, socks and what not. Then, there’s the fisherman, a man about the same size as Oliver, only much broader. His greying moustache makes him look more brooding than he is, the harsh sea air having made him ruddy faced over the years. He always stands by his fish, legs spread in a solid stance, thumbs hooked in the straps of his blue over-all’s. He’s kind and his laugh is booming, but you have to get closer than most people dare to find that out.

By the time Oliver has put up his booth, flowers and plants taking up the whole space, the town square is filling up. People scanning tables of dried meat, fresh greeneries, ceramic handicraft and sweets from the local candy store. Some of them strolling leisurely around with steaming cups, others looking more determined.

As the sun starts to set and the crowds have thinned out, Oliver decides to call it a day. It has been a good day for business and the weather has been nice, leaving him ready for a night in front of the fireplace. Locking up the cash box, Oliver places it in the front seat of his car. He knows it’s unnecessary to carry it around, most people don’t even carry cash anymore, but he likes to be of the safe side. While rummaging around the glove box, Oliver barely hears the voice talking behind him. “Sorry, are you still open?”

Grunting, Oliver brushes his hands off on his jeans. “I’m afraid I’m closed for today, sorry--” Oliver says, coming to a stop as he faces the owner of the voice. Holy mackerel.

“Oh, that’s alright I’ll just—Oliver? Oliver Campbell, is that really you?” Elio asks, a surprised smile blooming all over his face. Feeling rather speechless and completely rooted to the ground, Oliver looks at Elio for a second, before snapping out of it.

“Elio,” he says. Then, “Yeah, it’s me—uhm--”

A heart-crushing smile on his mouth, Elio rounds the corner of the booth, steps up to Oliver and flings his arms around him, patting him on the back. Oliver barely registers what is happening, before Elio has pulled back, awkward chuckles bubbling out of him. “Man, it’s been ages! I didn’t even know that you’d still be around--” Elio says, instantly making Oliver’s stomach do an uneasy flip, his smile faltering a little. “Shit, I didn’t mean it like that—you know what I mean. Man, me and my mouth, sorry, sorry, it’s just so good to see you!” With a final pat on Oliver’s bicep, Elio shuffles back, scratching the back of his neck.

“Uh, yeah-yeah, it’s alright, really, and uhm—you too,” Oliver offers, feeling tongue tied, his heart working a thousand miles per hour to keep up with the sudden rush of blood pumping through his veins.

When none of them says anything more, just standing there, looking at each other, one more flushed than the other, Oliver snaps out of it. “Can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, yeah!” Jumping into action, Elio pulls out his wallet from the pockets of his low-hung dark blue jeans. “I need flowers. Lots of them, the biggest you’ve got,” he says, smiling sheepishly at Oliver. “Right. Any color preferences?”

“Man, I don’t know. The ones that say, ‘I’m sorry’ the most?”

“That I can do,” Oliver chuckles, resolutely shoving any spiralling thoughts away. He can do that later.

Picking out light pink, creamy white and green colors, Oliver gets to work.

“By the way, I totally forgot -mama told me that you’ve gotten engaged. Congratulations man,” Elio says, a polite smile on his face. It’s not the beaming one from earlier, but Oliver figures Elio is just being polite. Even though, he is a bit late. It must’ve been a long time since he spoke to his mother last.

Grabbing the flax string from his pocket, Oliver furrows his eyebrows. “Oh, no, we’re not—we broke up. Uhm, the wedding didn’t happen. But thank you,” Oliver says, awkwardly clearing his throat. Handing Elio the flowers Oliver doesn’t know what to do with his hands. Looking at the man in front of him, Oliver has a hard time deciphering his expression. “Shit, I’m sorry about that. Look at me, constantly putting my foot in my mouth,” Elio laughs, and he almost sounds nervous. When Oliver thinks he spots a relieved look in Elio’s eyes, he tells himself to stop imagining things.

“It’s fine. All forgiven,” Oliver says, getting lost in Elio’s eyes. He means it though. True, there had been a time where he preferred not to think about his failed engagement. A time where he felt sorry for himself and a bit lonely. But not anymore. Now, he’s sure that he and Matthew made the right choice.

“I bet she’s gonna like those, don’t worry,” Oliver says, nodding at the flowers in Elio’s hand. Laughing, Elio grabs the shadow of his cap and scratches the top of his hair. “Dude, I bet you’d know that better than me.”

Confused, Oliver rakes his brain. How would he know? What does Elio mean? Does he know Elio’s girlfriend? Or is it because Elio doesn’t know that Oliver is gay, or worse- that he assumes Oliver to be the best gay friend of the whole female part of the town?

“They are for my mama,” Elio clarifies, an amused look on his face as he takes in Oliver’s frowning one. As the light, swooshing feeling of relief floods his system, Oliver finds himself laughing back at Elio. Reaching out, Elio squeezes Oliver’s hand. His hand is warm, long, beautiful fingers closing around Oliver’s calloused, dry one and why does he always have such dirty hands?

“It was really nice seeing you again, Oliver. I hope I won’t have to wait for years until next time.” And then, he turns around and walks off, his loping gait just the same as Oliver remembers. The only differences Oliver finds, is the way his own stomach loops even more than he remember it doing all those years ago.

It’s not until Oliver’s home that night, ass planted in his favourite dust green armchair with his feet propped up on the matching pouf, that the events of the day really dawn on him. The aromas of lasagna still linger in the air and he feels toasty from being outside all day. Staring into the fireplace, Oliver takes a sip of his scotch, the amber liquid warming him up from the

inside while leaving a tingling sensation on his lips.

Elio had remembered him, had only needed one look at Oliver to recognize him, even remembering his full name.

Feeling a sudden weight jump up into his lap, Oliver looks down, already knowing who it is.

“Hello friend,” he says, petting the tiny grey feline, its small white paws carding on Oliver’s thighs before it settles down. Looking back into the flames, Oliver imagines Elio’s smile, thinks about how it had taken over his whole face. No wonder Oliver have always had soft spot for him.

Not knowing whether it’s the scotch in his glass or the memory of Elio’s words, Oliver feels a soft warmth spread in his chest and belly. Sinking further into the armchair, he glances at the window when the wind picks up, making a branch hit the glass.

Feeling nice and cozy, Oliver pets the cat in his lap, mouthing the words “I hope it won’t be years,” and “I’m just so happy to see you,” over and over again. He ends up falling asleep like that, memories of Elio filling his dreams until he wakes up hours later. Going to bed, he makes a sleep-induced promise to himself that he’ll make sure it won’t be years before he sees Elio again.

Two days later, Oliver already stands behind the cashier at Fancy Plants when Annella enters through the door. Feeling the usual skip in his chest, Oliver figures that this time his heart is actually excused. Elio should still be in town. Right? Yes, Oliver thinks. He just arrived.

“Oliver,” Annella says, coming up to the cashier, a big, knitted scarf wrapped around her shoulders. Her cheeks are rosy from the wind outside and Oliver can already smell the signs of her homemade carrot cake.

“Annella, what can I help you with?” Oliver asks, trying not to show any signs of disappointment when it’s clear that Elio isn’t hiding in her basket or trailing behind. “You know me, Oliver. I get started in the kitchen and before I know it, I’ve made enough food to feed all of Saint Orobie. So, please take this,” she says, pulling forth a plastic container filled with carrot cupcakes.

“Oh, you didn’t have to--” Oliver begins, taking the container anyway. “Yes, I did. I had planned on feeding Elio with some of them, he’s never eating enough that boy, but you know how it is, off he is again, no time for his mother’s marathon baking. He asked me to swing by yours with some of them by the way.”

Feeling his heart sink, Oliver clears his throat. “Yeah, he- we talked. The other day—how is he?”

“He’s good. He told me to tell you that he’s sorry —god knows about what— I sure don’t, so I hope you’ll know. He told me that you would know. By the way, Oliver, that bouquet was beautiful. I knew the minute I saw it where he had gotten it from. The one and only,” Annella says, brushing a strand of hair out of her smiling face. Not knowing what to say, Oliver chuckles before he swallows. So, Elio is gone again. Just like that—and Oliver can't do nothing but wait until next time and hope that it won’t be years.

“Thank you. I’m glad you liked it. Where—where was he going?” As soon as the question is out, Oliver regrets it. He sounds nosy and way too invested in Elio’s whereabouts. God.

“Someplace in the middle east, I think. He talked about some desert scenes, needing to be re-shot, I’m not really sure. I don’t know how he does it, all that traveling and running around. Now, enough about that. How are you, dear?”

Looking down at his hands, Oliver tries to shove the regret of knowing that Elio is already so far, far away down.

“I’m good, thank you. I made your lasagna recipe the other day, tasted amazing as always. Oh, and my mom said something about dropping by your place, so you might expect her sometime soon.”

For the next twenty minutes, Oliver talks to Annella, finding comfort in her ever-calming presence while trying to cheer up despite the fact that her son, Oliver biggest crush ever, has left town again. Without Oliver noticing, again. This second time might actually hit harder than the first time did.

At night, Oliver finds himself lying wide awake in his bed. The window is only ajar due to the storm outside, but Oliver enjoys listening to the rustling wind, so he didn’t close it all the way. When his phone lights up, Oliver half expects it to be his mother sending him awkward cat videos, half expects it to be Matthew. He usually texts Oliver at this time of the night when he’s lonely and has forgotten why they broke up in the first place.

Grabbing the device, Oliver squints at the screen. Almost puts it away again when the Instagram icon is the only one taking up his screen. But then he reads what the actual notification says.

_elioperlman started following you_. Heart jumping, Oliver barely gets to unlock his phone, before another notification shows up, stating that he’s got a DM. Hands shaking, Oliver opens up the message.

elioperlman: _hey man_

elioperlman: _dunno if u talked to my mama yet_

elioperlman: _just wanted to say that i’m off again, a bit unexpectedly. Had hope for a couple more days at home_

elioperlman: _anyway i was just wondering if you’d like to meet up for real when i get back_

elioperlman: _u know. Catch up haha_

elioperlman: _anyway hit me up if you want to_

Staring at the screen like some star struck teenager, Oliver clutches his phone so tight he’s actually afraid it might break. So many messages. Holy fuck. Waiting for a second, Oliver makes sure that Elio isn’t going to send more messages. It ends up taking Oliver about fifteen minutes to come up with a reply.

oliverCampbell95: _Hey. Yes, I did talk to your mom and you don’t have to be sorry, we all get busy sometimes. Sure, we can meet up._

Praying that he doesn’t come off too eager, Oliver re-reads the reply a hundred times, before carefully placing the phone on his nightstand without touching the send-button. He doesn’t want to seem like he was waiting for Elio’s message.

Suddenly realizing that Elio might actually be able to see that Oliver has seen the message, Oliver panics. What if Elio thinks that Oliver isn’t going to answer? That he doesn’t care, or worse, that he’s mad about something. Grabbing the phone again, Oliver sucks in a deep breath, counts down from three and hits the send-button. Then, he promptly locks the phone, places it on the nightstand and turns his back to it.

About two minutes later, the screen lights up again, casting Oliver’s bedroom in a blue light.

elioperlman: _cool! I guess i’ll just text you when i get back?_

elioperlman: _or just stop by ur shop_

elioperlman: _can’t wait haha! See u soon_

See you soon. Curling around his spare pillow, Oliver hides his face in it, muffling the happy sound that slips out of him. Rolling onto his stomach, Oliver types out a reply, his stomach feeling like he’s on a rollercoaster ride the whole time.

oliverCampbell95: _see u soon, Elio_

Oliver spends the rest of his waking hours imagining how it’ll be when Elio gets back. It’s a mix of scenarios, all of them including Elio smiling, them hugging and Oliver playing it totally cool.


	2. Chapter two

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Omg so I took “chapter two” down because it didn’t seem necessary anymore and I didn’t want it to ruin the continuity for the reader. But I didn’t think and now I’ve deleted all of your gorgeous comments too and i just want to say that that really wasn’t the intention, so please, if your comment is gone, I’m so sorry. I wanna blame my tired brain but reality is that it’s just so typical me 🤦🏼♀️

When the colors have fallen off the trees and the chrysanthemum in front of Fancy Plants have been exchanged for small thujas and red orpine, Oliver still hasn’t heard from Elio. The winter has come and with it the nostalgic feeling of Christmas, the cold seeping in everywhere. The heater in the corner of the shop makes the place a nice refugee for the people passing by on the street, and Oliver finds himself very busy these days. He’s thankful for that and he doesn’t mind the constant stream of locals and tourists popping in to be inspired and bring home a piece of their own greenery. The sniffling and rosy cheeks simply add to the holiday mood. 

Squeezing behind shelves of red, white, and pink poinsettias, Oliver crouches down in the display window. The string lights running along the edge of the window went out last night. He can’t have that, not when the days are getting shorter, casting the small town in darkness more often than not. When the lights turn back on, Oliver stands back up, groaning when his knee makes a cracking sound.

The smell of cinnamon has spread out nicely, and Oliver reminds himself to give Emily credit for thinking of adding them to the Christmas decorations placed all over the small shop. He’s got a feeling that the customers like it too, based on the satisfied sighs sounding whenever a new one enters.

Oliver spends the better half of the day attending to customers, making bouquets, and mopping up small puddles of melted snow in front of the door. All the while, his thoughts are on Elio. It’s been about two months since they talked. Two months since he showed up at the town square. Oliver would be lying if he said that he hadn’t looked out for Elio at that particular event ever since. To Oliver’s disappointment, the guy had never shown up.

One time, about three weeks ago, he had seen pictures of Elio on the streets of a faraway country, its houses looking nothing like the ones in Saint Orobie. He had been crowded by young people reaching out to various objects for Elio to sign. Elio had been in a t-shirt and shorts, while Oliver had sat at home, bundled up in sweaters and a blanket. It had made Oliver swallow down any hope of Elio being on his way back.

He had spoken to both Annella and Samuel lots of times over the past few months. Had even run into Vimini, Elio’s sister, who had smiled at him, her tan making her look like a foreigner. It had been around thanksgiving, and Oliver had felt a sprouting hope that Elio would be coming home for the holiday too. He had never seen him though, and Annella nor Samuel ever mentioned anything about his return. _Always so busy, that boy_. Indeed, Oliver thought.

The days go by. The sun shines bright, but only for a few hours, and then it’s the moon and Christmas lights lighting the way for the citizens of Saint Orobie again. And just like the sun, the seasons and the day follow their usuals routines, so does Oliver. He visits his parents and they have egg-nogs in front of the fire and he shovels snow in front of Fancy Plants and his own house. At night, he crunches on cinnamon cookies and warms himself by the fire, just to repeat the whole thing the next day.

On the last day before the holidays, Oliver is reaching up to one of the highest shelves, looking for a packet of paper bags he knows he left there when the bell by the door chimes.

He’s long past being anxious to look for Elio when it happens. Figures that Elio must’ve forgotten about talks of meeting up. That he must be too busy, or simply isn’t that stoked to squeeze Oliver and this ancient town into his busy schedule. Oliver has already forgiven him.

This is probably the reason why Oliver nearly sweeps half the contents of the shelves to the floor in pure shock, when the voice he will never forget, suddenly speaks behind him.

“I like the name of your place,” it says.

“Wha- what?” Oliver stutters, turning around to see Elio. And right there he is, indeed. The usual cap squeezed over his curls, a thick scarf almost covering his face. Almost, because Oliver can see the cold in his cheeks, the sparkling in his eyes.

“The name—it’s catchy,” Elio says. Turning halfway around, he gestures at the door he just came through. Taking a closer look, Oliver takes in the sure signs of nervous energy coming off of Elio.

“You’re here,” is all Oliver says, feeling rather silly as he fiddles with the paper bags in his hands. “I am,” Elio says, stuffing his hands in his jacket as he sways from side to side. “I should’ve probably told you when I’d be back but—” Scratching the back of his hair, he looks the very picture of apologetic. “I didn’t really know if I’d even make it in time for Christmas. I’m sorry, you must’ve thought all sort of things.”

“I didn’t think anything. It’s a nice surprise,” Oliver says, feeling his face flush. He had thought a lot of things. He’s just not going to tell Elio that, it would make him sound crazy and, and—dumb. Plus, he’d obviously been wrong. Otherwise, Elio wouldn’t be standing right in front of him.

Elio smiles at him, soft and warm. For a moment, they simply stand there, smiling at each other. To Oliver’s big regret, none of them moves in for a hug like he’d imagined all those nights.

“Anyway,” Elio says. “I was wondering if you’d be up for a cup of coffee. I thought we could go to Maeve’s place—wait is that even still open?”

“It’s still open,” Oliver chuckles, feeling butterflies erupt in his stomach. “I uh, I’m going to close up in an hour or so--” Oliver begins, looking at his watch.

“Oh, that’s totally cool! I’ll just, I’ll meet you there?”

“Yeah. Give me an hour and a half, tops,” Oliver says, biting his lip to reign back the huge smile creeping up on him. “An hour and a half,” Elio echoes, nodding at Oliver.

Turning around, he takes a couple of steps towards the door, before he turns back around. Then, he stalks up to Oliver and pulls him into a tight hug. The curls that aren’t kept in place by the cap tickles Oliver in the face, and when he hugs Elio back, he can’t help the small sigh he makes.

Elio doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes Oliver once, and then he pulls back. This time he makes it all the way to the door before he turns looks at Oliver, and says, “Maeve’s place, an hour and a half.” Then, he’s off and Oliver is left with whooping butterflies and a galloping heart.

Oliver ends up closing the shop five minutes earlier than usual. It won’t hurt anyone, and he can’t stand just watching the time crawl at a snail's pace, knowing that Elio will be waiting for him. For once, he’s thankful that Emily had needed the day off, otherwise, he would have to explain his odd behavior. He had imagined telling her about this. Had thought about what he would say, how much detail he would’ve needed to get into. It had made him think that maybe Elio isn’t particularly interested in the whole town knowing that he’s here. Remembering the pictures he had seen of Elio being flocked by strangers makes Oliver decide that he won’t be the one telling people. 

He feels assured in that decision when he gets to the café. Elio isn’t standing outside, so Oliver just walks in. Scanning the small place, Oliver finds Elio all the way in the back, seated in a corner.

Starting to unbutton his coat, Oliver sniffles from the cold and head towards Elio. “Hey,” he says, pulling out the chair opposite of Elio. “Hi,” Elio answers, giving a small wave. “I hope you don’t mind the seats— If you’d rather sit up front or by the window, we can totally do that, I just thought—”

“Here is fine,” Oliver says, doing his best at an assuring smile. “I mean, I understand if you’d like to be left alone sometimes, I can only imagine how it must be—” trailing off, Oliver suddenly feels awkward addressing the very obvious matter. It just feels kind of rude to point out that Elio is one of the world's greatest actors, even though everyone says it all the time. Oliver would like to think that he’s different from everyone.

“I don’t like to complain, but yeah… sometimes it’s nice to be able to be just me.” Blushing, Elio looks down, a fringe of curls falling in front of his eyes. Oliver feels breathless.

“Yeah. I get that,” Oliver says. He really does. Not in the same sense as Elio is talking about right now, god no, but he knows what it feels like to be able to do whatever you want to, when you want to. To have no one to answer for but yourself. It’s something didn’t realize before after Matthew.

Clearing his throat, Elio gestures at the steaming cups in front of them. “I also hope that you don’t mind me ordering for the both of us. Maeve says you prefer your coffee black, so… but if you’d rather have something else, then that’s fine too.”

Enjoying the warmth spreading in his chest by Elio’s thoughtfulness, Oliver brings the cup to his mouth. Blows on it carefully, before taking a sip of the heavenly beverage. “Maeve was right. Thank you,” Oliver smiles, placing his cup back down.

“Good. So, tell me, what did I miss since last time? Any good gossip?” Elio asks, a glint in his eyes that tells Oliver that he’s not really that interested in gossip. “I’m afraid I don’t partake much in the local gossip, and you know, things don’t change much around here. I’m sure you see much more exciting stuff than I do,” Oliver chuckles.

Elio shrugs. “Well. Last month, I spend a week running around in the desert. But even that gets old, and… and then, when you get home…” trailing off, Elio’s eyes go a bit distant. Oliver can already hear the rest of the unfinished sentence in his mind. You go home, to an empty bed, miles, and miles from your family, the place that saw you grow into an extraordinary human being. You go home, and no one asks you how your day was. You go home— but a home is a new place every other week.

“Was it as big as I imagine? The desert,” Oliver asks, wanting t bring back the life in Elio’s eyes. It works. “Even bigger,” Elio smiles, snapping out of it. “Like, if you try to drive through it, you’ll have to drive for days and nights and you’ll still be surrounded by sand. It’s— unlike anything. Enormous doesn’t even cut it, man.”

“Really?”

“Yes! And you’d think that it’s the absolute worst place to shoot a movie, but it’s not. Once, I was in a movie with a lot of muddy scenes. Man, there was mud everywhere, and it went on for days, I think I might still be able to find some in my ears.” Already feeling completely captured by Elio’s face, his voice and the way he puts his whole body into his stories makes Oliver lean his face in his hand. And then, he just listens. There are stories about great places with mountains bigger than mountain Orobie, valleys deeper than the oceans, crazy actors demanding “fast food in the middle of a desert. Can you believe it?” And no, Oliver can barely believe it, but he’ll listen to anything Elio says. “Did he get the fast food then?” Oliver asks when Elio pauses to sip his coffee. ”What? Oh, no, he didn’t. As a result, he was being unreasonably grumping for the entirety of the following day. It was madness.”

As they sit there, cups being refilled by the elderly lady -Maeve- who continuously sends Oliver looks that Oliver promptly ignores, Oliver feels himself completely spellbound by Elio. Age has clearly been his friend, his jawline now sharp and defined. Oliver is sure that he’s taller too, even though back when Elio had moved, he’d probably stop growing too.

“How many of the people from school still live here?” Elio asks, opening a small bag of sugar.

Oliver thinks for a second while looking at the way Elio’s long fingers tear the bag of sugar before emptying the whole thing into his coffee. “Let me see… I’m still here, obviously,” looking up at Oliver, a small smile plays at Elio’s lips. “Luckily,” he mumbles.

Oliver swallows, tries not to stumble over Elio’s words. “Then there’s Meghan, who I think is a nurse. There are Matthew and Patrick -who commutes to the city every day, he just landed a major marketing job. There’s Brittany who just got twins. Uhhh… then there’s Andrew, who’s married to Rachel, who’s become a hairdresser. Oh! And let’s not forget- Elliot. And before you ask, yes, he still lives with his mother.”

“Oh, yes. The other Elliot,” Elio chuckles, stirring his sugary coffee.

“You still talk to any of them?” Oliver asks, absentmindedly sipping his coffee.

Pulling his arms tighter against his side, Elio makes himself look smaller, as he quickly shakes his head. “No. Uhm— I haven’t. I should’ve tried harder, but you know— and then, suddenly, people stopped calling me Elio, and now I’m just Elio Perlman, and it gets a bit much. So… you’re the first one from school I’ve really talked to since I moved.” Looking down at his cup all the while speaking, Elio finishes his sentence with a shrug.

“Does it ever get lonely?” Oliver asks. He knows he probably just crossed a line, but looking at Elio right now, Oliver can’t bring himself to act as if the obvious answer isn’t right in front of him.

Pulling in a deep breath, Elio sighs. Biting his lip, he looks back up at Oliver. “I mean— yeah,” he says, shrugging again. “But it’s fine. I get to see the world and do what I love, so.”

Oliver really, really can’t help his next question. Can’t stop his mouth from forming the words, even though he really doesn’t want the answer. He knows enough already, has seen enough.

“Don’t you have… anyone?” He asks, hands tightening around his coffee cup.

“You mean dating?”

Oliver shrugs, a sound between pain and regret forming in his throat.

“I uh— no. Not really. I mean, there’s always someone around, for the sake of cameras and prying eyes, but not— not someone real.”

“Oh. Oh, I uh— oh.” Heat spreads to Oliver’s cheeks, and he briefly wonders if Elio feels it too.

“I’m still waiting. For the right one,” Elio clarifies, eyes boring into Oliver’s soul.

Feeling his pulse speeding up, Oliver licks his lips. When he looks Elio in the eyes, Oliver is almost certain that Elio means someone specific.

Almost certain, that he wasn’t the only one feeling tension and lingering touches, that he wasn’t the only one sending longing glances across schoolyards all those years ago. “Have you- have you found yours?” Elio asks, placing his hand on the table, halfway towards Oliver. Swallowing dryly, Oliver says the only thing that feels true in that moment. “I think I might have a long time ago.” Reaching his own, shaking, tentative hand towards Elio’s on the table, Oliver holds his breath.

“Oliver—” Elio begins, his voice airy like a beckon. Oliver wants to answer, and he’s about to when he feels a solid hand slide across the broad of his shoulders.

“Oliver, there you are.” And just like that, the moment is broken. Oliver can almost taste his own frustration, can certainly see the climax of his oldest dream ever shatter right before him. Turning around, Oliver looks up at none other than Matthew, the idiot looking completely oblivious. Oliver has a fleeting urge to hit him in the balls. “Matthew,” Oliver states, his voice surprised. “Thought I could find you here— you weren’t at the shop,” he says, acting as if Elio isn’t even there.

“Why would you look for me there? It’s closed for the holidays, you know that—”

“Yes, but I wanted to talk to you. I haven’t seen you in days—”

“—and you don’t have to, either,” Oliver finishes, desperately thinking of a way to shake him off.

Turning towards Elio, Oliver gestures up at the doofus standing by their table. “This is Matthew, my—”

“Oh, I know. I uh, I promised mama to grab some things from the store, before they’re closing, so I better get going,” Elio hurries, already standing up, shrugging on his coat.

“What? Are you sure? It’s only—” looking at his watch, Oliver doesn’t get to finish.

“Late, it’s late and I should get going. It was, uh— really nice to see you, Oliver.” Putting on his cap, Elio shifts awkwardly on his feet, before he smiles a small smile. “Merry Christmas,” he says, and then he walks away.

Staring after him, Oliver feels his annoyance rise to a whole new level. When Matthew takes Elio’s seat, Oliver counts to ten, reminds himself that he’s been here before, that Matthew can’t help it. He’s just thick like that.

“Why the hell did you have to do that?” Oliver groans, rubbing at his face with both hands.

“Do what? Oh— shit. Am I interrupting something?”

“Yes! Yes, you were, goddammit Matty.” The thing I’ve been waiting for to happen in freaking years.

“Shit. I didn’t know— oh my god. Oliver, I honestly didn’t know. I thought that—”

“What did you think?”

“That maybe— I don’t know, that maybe you hadn’t moved on yet? I mean, I’m not even sure that I—”

“Wow. Wow, wait a minute. Matty, come on. It’s been nearly a year. We broke things off exactly because we didn’t feel anything anymore,” Oliver says, putting his hands up as if that will make Matthew stop the nonsense going on in his mind.

“Yes, but… sometimes I just miss you,” Matthew says, eyes sad like a homeless puppy.

“Matty… don’t keep looking for something that disappeared a long time ago. We looked for it together, remember? It’s gone, and you deserve to move on.” This time, Oliver makes his voice softer. If he had known that Matthew felt like this, he would’ve put a stop to it a long time ago.

“Because you have— moved on. Right?”

“Yeah. I have. And so should you,” Oliver says, making his eyes kind.

“Alright… Uhm. yeah. I guess you’re right. I’m… I’m sorry for ruining things for you.”

“You really did, didn’t you?” Hiding his face in his hands, Oliver feels frustration bloom in his chest.

“Yeah… hey, shouldn’t you like, chase after him or something?” Matthew asks, his face lighting up as if this is the cleverest, most original idea ever.

“I’m pretty sure he doesn’t enjoy being chased after. Don’t worry— I’ll think of something.” But I’m not going to do any chasing.

“I swear to god I’ve seen him before. Is he from around here?” The suspicious look on Matthew’s face assures Oliver that Matthew must’ve most definitely seen Elio on the big screen before. But that’s not Oliver’s fault— he had always made sure to watch Elio’s movies without Matthew. He had been afraid that his face would reveal old feelings, and yes, Oliver had been painfully aware that if he needed to take precautions like that, it probably meant that he was already in the wrong.

“Yeah. We went to school with him… it’s just a long time ago.”

* * *

Oliver ends up spending the rest of the afternoon and the bigger part of the night with his phone in hand, the notes app pulled up. He needs to smooth out any possible misunderstandings. God forbid that Elio walks around, thinking that Oliver and Matthew are a couple.

He feels silly sending the message on Instagram as if he’s too grown or just… too inexperienced with the fast, modern world. He bets that Elio never sends regular text messages.

oliverCampbell95: _hey_

oliverCampbell95: _I never thanked you for coffee today_

Biting his lip, Oliver scratches his hair. Another weird feeling is sending Elio multiple texts when he could just send one. Elio does the same thing though, and Oliver isn’t sure if it’s deemed “uncool” to just keep to one text at a time these days. He doesn’t want Elio to think that he’s uncool.

oliverCampbell95: _sorry about Matthew btw_

It’s stupid, Oliver tells himself. Elio is just as old as he is, so there’s really no reason why Elio would think that Oliver is old. It still doesn’t change the fact that Elio makes Oliver feel a little rusty though.

He leaves his phone in the living room. Tells himself that he doesn’t care that much if Elio answers. He’s a grown man— he’s not going to clutch his phone and tap the screen every other minute.

Rummaging around his kitchen, Oliver fills a kettle for tea. He stops in his tracks and turns off the tap when he thinks he hears the sound of his phone buzzing. Catching his reflection in the dark kitchen window, Oliver shakes his head. Tells himself to calm down and play it cool before he continues with the tea. When the kettle is turned on and there’s a bag of tea waiting in his night-time mug, Oliver leaves the kitchen.

He tells himself that he’s just going to get changed, but as he passes by the coffee table, he snatches up his phone anyway. Turns on the screen and bites the inside of his lip when nothing but the time shows on his front screen.

Reminding himself that he doesn’t care, Oliver throws the device on his bed before he pulls off his jeans. He imagines that that’s what cool people do -tosses their phone because they don’t need other people to tell them that they’re good enough.

And it’s not that Oliver needs constant confirmation from other people -he doesn’t- and yet he’s not confident enough to not look at his phone while he pulls off his sweater and the t-shirt beneath.

Opening a drawer in the dresser, Oliver turns his back to the phone and grabs his sweats and a long-sleeved t-shirt.

He makes a rule about not checking his phone, not even to look real quick before he’s dressed, and has put away the clothes on the floor.

When he allows himself to look, he takes a seat at the edge of the bed. Tells himself not to expect an answer as he turns on the screen.

When there is a message, Oliver sucks in a breath.

elioperlman: _it’s no problem :)_

elioperlman: _he seems nice_

Nice.

Oliver isn’t sure what he expected Elio to answer but this certainly isn’t it. Furrowing his eyebrows, Oliver leaves the bedroom and heads for the kitchen. The water for his tea is ready and as he pours it into his cup, he feels off balance.

He takes a seat by the table in the kitchen, the steam from his mug fogging up his reading glasses. He takes them off and rubs the place between his eyebrows.

oliverCampbell95: _I guess_

This is so not going how Oliver would’ve liked it. How did he end up talking about his ex of all people with the guy he’s been crushing on since he learned how to ride a bike?

oliverCampbell95: _it was really nice seeing you_

Oliver doesn’t have a lot of experience in the flirting area and he feels like it shows. He bets Elio’s got a lot of experience— he probably barely needs to work for it. Just look at Oliver, how he’s all dizzy and fumbling after a cup of coffee and catching up.

elioperlman: _u too :)_

Oliver groans out loud, letting his face fall into his arm resting on the table. He doesn’t even need to read Elio’s text twice this time. He doesn’t want to. It’s embarrassing how fast he managed to mess this up.

He drinks half of his tea before he checks the lock on the front door and goes to bed. He wants to leave this day behind as soon as possible.

* * *

It’s the day before Christmas, which means the shop is officially closed. Oliver is out in the back, the radio turned a little louder than usual. It’s playing a particular piano piece, one that always makes him feel warm and content. He’s trying not to let his mind circle around the fact that he completely ruined any chance of getting Elio to go out for a second cup of coffee.

It doesn’t matter. It shouldn’t matter. What had Oliver even been thinking? It had been years since he and Elio really knew one another, years since their lives had any kind of resemblance.

Oliver needs to stop pining and let go of childhood fantasies. He needs to stop daydreaming all the time. It can’t possibly be healthy.

The piano piece has reached its peak, the tones of Liszt filling the cold room as Oliver sweeps the floor empties buckets of water, and arranges leftover flowers in a bouquet that he’ll give his mom tonight.

It’s not until the music dies down, that Oliver hears the sound of knocking on the front door. Straightening up, Oliver furrows his eyebrows.

He turns down the radio and leans the broom against the doorframe.

When he steps into the front of the shop where he can see through the glass of the front door, Oliver feels his heart skip a beat, a rush of nerves pumping through his body.

Elio is standing there, looking down at his feet as he waits for someone to open the door. 

When Oliver unlocks the door, Elio looks up. A smile spreads across his face, and Oliver feels his stomach erupt in butterflies.

Oliver opens the door. “Elio. Hey.”

“Hi,” Elio answers, shuffling nervously on his feet.

“What… uh, we’re closed. Uh- for the holidays,” Oliver says, already wanting to smack himself in the face. What is he doing? Trying to make Elio think that he’s not interested?

“I- sorry, I didn’t know that. I can- uh, I’ll just…”

“No, it’s fine,” Oliver hurries, trying to take his words back. He doesn’t care. If Elio showed up in the middle of the night, Oliver would still let him in. To think otherwise is just ludicrous.

“What can I help you with?”

Never mind the sign on the door, clearly stating **CLOSED** in the big, bold, capital letters.

Elio looks back up at Oliver. For a second, he looks as if he doesn’t know what to say. As if he hasn’t counted on Oliver actually opening the door. 

“I… uh. Plants. Yes, plants. My apartment, back in the city. It needs plants and I know next to nothing about plants, but I need some because it’s honestly a little boring, my apartment, and my mama always tells me, Elio, you need plants, so—” Elio scratches the back of his neck, a nervous chuckle bubbling out of him “wait, do you do plants? Or is it just flowers?”

Oliver has never seen anyone as flustered and endearing as Elio is right now. His cheeks are red, his eyes clear, and Oliver wants to reach out and kiss him. Right on the cheek. Press his nose against the cold skin, let himself divulge in another daydream, one where Elio is babbling because of Oliver because he’s just as desperate for Oliver’s presence as Oliver is for Elio’s.

“Yeah, I do plants too,” Oliver says. Stepping aside, he opens the door fully and lets Elio in.

“Come on in and tell me about this place of yours. Is there a lot of light?”

“Uh, not really. It’s not that big. I guess you’d say that it’s tiny, but in the city, it’s decently big. It’s…” letting out a sigh, Elio scratches the back of his neck again. Oliver recognizes it as a nervous tick. Elio, for some reason, seems nervous.

“So, no dwarf date palms for you,” Oliver says, moving past a huge potted plant that looks like a palm tree that stopped growing upwards too soon.

“I guess not,” Elio answers, side-eyeing the oddly cute palm tree.

“What about light? Does this decently sized, but in reality, a tiny place of yours have any windows?”

Elio lets out an airy sound that sounds like a mixture between a sigh and a laugh.

“It’s got windows but uh, not much light. It’s in the middle of all these other buildings that block most of the light. I don’t live on the first floor though, so that’s nice. Apartments on first floors don’t have a lot of light.” Elio twists his mouth from side to side. “Sorry. I don’t know why I’m rambling so much. My apartment is small and yes, it’s got windows.”

Oliver tries to keep the blooming smile sneaking up on him at bay. Elio really is nervous. Huh.

“Then I’d suggest succulents since I guess you’re often gone at long periods of time,” Oliver says.

“Succulents?” Elio looks as if Oliver is speaking alien. He probably is to Elio’s ears.

“Succulents,” Oliver repeats, gesturing for Elio to follow him to the other side of the shop where there are shelves filled with small, green potted plants. “They’re fairly forgiving plants. You can forget about them for weeks and they’ll still be there when you get back to them. They need sunlight though, so make sure to place them by your windows.”

“What if I give them too much water? I heard that you can do that” Elio says, looking wary.

“That’s true. If you’re unsure, you can always check twenty minutes after you’ve watered them. If they don’t seem to have soaked it all, just drain them in the kitchen sink and they should be fine.”

“Alright… that seems… fairly easy, I guess?”

“You really don’t trust yourself with a house plant?” Oliver asks, amusement clear in his voice.

“I’m just… I’m not home a lot, is all. And I’d like to make my place a little— I don’t know, cozier? Make it feel like a home. I don’t know, I’m just not very good at staying focused long enough to keep things like… succulents alive.” Looking down at his hands, Elio trails off with a shrug and a nervous laugh.

To Oliver, it sounds as if succulents aren’t the only thing Elio’s life is missing. But that might be Oliver projecting his own needs and fantasies.

“You don’t like your place?” Oliver asks, taking in Elio’s hunched shoulders.

“Oh no, it’s a good place. It’s just. I’ve never— I’ve never made it feel like… like my own place, you know. It’s like- it’s as if something is missing and I don’t know, maybe mama is right about me needing to get some plants.”

Oliver clears his throat. He needs to because it feels like something is stuck in there. Something big, something old. Yes, something old, in fact, so old that Oliver feels like it’s been part of him since he was a boy.

“Plants are a good place to start,” Oliver ends up saying.

“Yeah? What about your place? I imagine you’ve got a lot of—” Elio gestures at the place around them. “— this.”

Oliver chuckles. “You’ve got me all figured out.”

“I’d like to think that there’s still more to you than plants,” Elio says, looking intently at Oliver. As if he really is looking through him, searching for something. Oliver doesn’t know what he’s searching for, but he’s almost willing to let Elio see it all. Let him know everything about Oliver, let him be the expert in all things Oliver.

Oliver shrugs. “I don’t know,” is what he ends up saying. _I don’t know? Jesus._

Elio just looks at him, mouth opening, almost closing again when he seemingly decides to just spit it out.

“What about Matthew?” Oliver’s stomach drops a little.

“What about Matthew?” Oliver echoes, furrowing his eyebrows.

“He seems nice.” Elio’s words are kind, his voice neutral but his face— there’s a worry line between his eyebrows, a tenseness around his mouth that hadn’t been there before.

 _Nice._ There it is again. _He seems nice._ It’s almost as if the more Elio says it, the less earnest it becomes.

“He is,” Oliver says, looking Elio in the eye. He needs to clear things up. “But he’s also my ex and his timing is awful. He can be incredibly thick and annoying when he wants to, but I’ve made sure that he won’t be such an asshat again next time.”

The small crease on Elio’s forehead disappears and a shy smile takes over.

“Next time,” Elio says. As if this is the best news he's gotten all day. As if it’s a secret that he’ll bring back home, a secret that will bring him warmth and comfort later on. It’s Christmas and this is what it took for Elio to look like that. Oliver could fly to the moon and back right now.

“Next time,” Oliver confirms.

* * *

Oliver spends Christmas at his parent’s house like he always does. They have dinner, his father and himself crashing in the living room afterward because they’re both too full like they always are. It’s part of the whole tradition.

His mother does her best at being subtle about the fact that this is the first Christmas in years where it’s just the three of them. Where it’s just Oliver, not Oliver and Matthew.

She’s not very good at it though, so Oliver sighs. Stands from the couch and kisses her on the cheek, says, “stop worrying so much about me, mom. I promise that I’m not feeling lonely and miserable.”

And it’s true. He’s not miserable - he’s happy. He’s not lonely either, he just longs. It’s not the all-consuming longing for something that he’s lost, not the longing he felt the first two months of being single again. No, it’s the longing that feels good, the one that tells him that this is a good thing, a safe feeling that’ll keep him on his toes, always looking out for a particular set of curls, a particular voice. He’s happy when he’s thinking about it, just as well as he’s happy when he’s actually listening to it.

Oliver feels happy because Elio had come to the shop. He’d been nervous and he’d been relieved that Oliver wasn’t dating Matthew. They had talked about the _next time,_ and no one is going to tell Oliver that all that doesn’t mean something. It’s got to mean something.

At night, when Oliver goes to bed in his childhood bedroom, he closes his eyes and sees Christmas lights. Twinkling, warm Christmas lights that morph into green lakes when he starts to drift. Oliver tells himself that since it’s Christmas since Elio came to the shop even though it was closed, Oliver is allowed to daydream. So, he does. He chooses one of his favorites - the one where the pillow against his chest is Elio. Oliver imagines how his body would feel in his arms - skinny, but strong. Long, pale legs that intertwine with Oliver’s bigger ones. Delicate fingers that clutch Oliver’s, curls that Oliver will nuzzle into before he kisses Elio on the shoulder. Tonight, he kisses him on the nape of the neck too, and dream Elio sighs, presses back, cranes his neck subtly. In his dream, Oliver lets his hand wander as he presses kisses down the ridges of Elio’s spine, across his shoulder blade.

Oliver falls asleep. He’s still hard as a rock when he wakes up, but he doesn’t do anything about it. Just lies there, letting himself divulge in one more daydream, one where Elio whimpers and presses his own hardness against Oliver’s, making them both gasp.

Oliver doesn’t do anything about it, because it feels wrong. He knows without a doubt that he wouldn’t be the first one to think about beautiful Elio Perlman with a hand down his underwear, but he simply can’t make himself do it. He doesn’t want to be like anyone else, he wants to be— he wants— fuck.

This is where Oliver needs to open his eyes and stop. _Stop,_ because Elio never promised him anything. He never asked for Oliver to pine for him like this, to be the main source of happiness in Oliver’s life. He never asked for Oliver to put him on a pedestal and praise him like this.

Oliver doesn’t jerk off because it would feel like violating Elio in a way that Oliver doesn’t even understand himself. Even Oliver knows that daydreams can go too far. Oliver especially knows this. He always makes them resemble reality in a way that is too close, too real so that it ends up confusing him. Ends up hurting him, because he always smudges the lines between possible and impossible.

Oliver gets out of bed and promises to keep his cool. Elio is beautiful and smart, but he’s not everything. Oliver needs to remind himself about this multiple times over the next couple of days whenever he catches himself wondering if Elio would laugh right now if Elio would think that Oliver looks good right now if Elio would kiss him on the cheek right now. If Elio likes tea before bedtime if he’d prefer sleeping with the windows open or closed.

* * *

The second time Elio leaves town is much like the previous times. Oliver doesn’t know about it before he’s gone, and honestly, Oliver could do without this becoming a _thing._

He’d prefer it if he had the chance to soak up just a little more of Elio before he goes back to the big world. Before he goes back to being everyone’s Elio, and not just Oliver’s childhood crush.If Oliver is, to be honest with himself, he feels a little awful every time Elio leaves. Disappointed and a little anxious that this is the time where Elio forgets about Saint Orobie. About Oliver.

But then, this time turns out to be different anyway - and maybe not, because come to think of it, Elio always leaves something behind. The first time, it had been his family, it had been Vimini telling Oliver where Elio went. The second time, he’d left hope behind, a promise of meeting up. This time, it’s his phone number.

When Oliver goes back to work after Christmas, Emily is already there.

“Good morning,” she says, leaning over the counter, a piece of paper in her hand.

“Morning,” Oliver answers, shrugging off his coat.

“How was your Christmas?”

“Good, it was nice. What about yours?”

Emily shrugs, a secretive look on her face as if she knows something.

“It was good, but evidently not as good as yours,” she says.

“Why not?” Oliver asks absentmindedly as he goes out to the back, turning on the lights.

“Because yours included Elio Perlman and I’m not sure if I should be jealous, happy for you, or mad that you’ve been keeping it from me that he’s clearly been here before,” Emily says, a smirk on her face.

Oliver blushes, his heart stuttering.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says.

“Shut up man, I know you do. Why else would he come in here and ask for you?”

This time, Oliver doesn’t succeed in keeping the interest out of his voice.

“He was here? When?”

“Fifteen minutes ago. He looked like he was in a hurry, told me to give this to you,” Emily says, handing Oliver the piece of paper. Oliver swallows as he takes the paper with shaking hands.

“Busy? Did he say where he was going?” Oliver already knows the answer anyway. Back to the city. Back to his small apartment that’s not a home. Back to authentic streets, breathtaking mountains, and people that would offer him anything and everything. Oliver would too, but it’s not like he’s got a lot to offer in comparison.

“No, he didn’t.”

Tracing the numbers on the paper with a finger, Oliver nods solemnly. Looks back up at Emily and smiles, because Elio is beautiful but he’s not everything.

“Thank you,” he says, stuffing the paper into his pocket.

In reality, he’s freaking out internally. In reality, he wants to call Elio and ask him to come back, ask him to please say that this means that Oliver’s got a shot. He doesn’t though because that would seem desperate and _not cool._ Oliver tells himself that he’ll wait until tonight. He’ll wait and be cool and unaffected. In reality, he just really doesn’t know what to say.

God, it’s been years since he’s been in this situation, and even then, Matthew didn’t take a lot of persuasions. They sort of just kissed one night and then somehow wound up together for years. Oliver doesn’t really know how it happened.

Oliver spends way too much time formulating a text. Part of the reason might be that he starts doubting himself about fifty times. What if he’s just seeing things? What if Elio just wanted to ask Oliver about plants and light and, and— Oliver shakes his head grumbles at himself.

Oliver: _hi, this is Oliver_

He presses his phone in between the cushions of his couch the minute that he presses send. He’s nervous and shaky when he stands up and puts some distance between himself and his phone. Between himself and Elio, because Elio’s already got way too much to say in how Oliver generally feels. It’s so ridiculous, Oliver could laugh if he wasn’t so nervous.

Staring at the place where he knows his phone is, Oliver dives back in after it. It’s stupid really, how he’s always trying to hide the phone from himself. As if he’s got the memory of a goldfish when in reality, he’s hyper-focused on knowing exactly where it is if it makes a sound.

There’s still no answer from Elio, so Oliver hurries and adds something more because he doesn’t want to come off as superficial or uninterested.

Oliver: _did you have more questions about the succulents?_

It takes Oliver about five minutes to decide that it would’ve been better if he just hadn’t sent that last text at all. _Oh my god._

Glancing at the scotch standing on a tray in the corner of the living room, Oliver curls his fingers into a fist, scratching the inside of his palm with his fingernails. It’s late, and he never lets himself drink if it’s in any way what-so-ever to deal with his mental state of mind. He’s never had any problems regarding alcohol and it’s not that he’s afraid of developing one, but still.

Sighing, he heads for the kitchen instead and makes himself a cup of tea. He’s not really sure if it makes a difference regarding his circadian rhythm, but he thinks that it’s a nice ritual. Tea is healthier than alcohol anyway, and Oliver needs some comfort.

Taking a seat at the kitchen table, Oliver leans back in the chair and rolls his shoulders. When he feels the familiar sensation of soft fur against his bare feet, he reaches down and scratches the cat between its ears.

When his phone buzzes, Oliver nearly burns his tongue on his tea.

Elio: _hey Oliver :)_

Elio: _yeah, I do_

Elio: _is a cactus succulent?_

Oliver blinks at his phone. Holds his breath, half expecting one more text to come through. When that doesn’t happen, Oliver scratches his forehead.

Oliver: _yeah, they are_

Oliver: _are you going to give the cacti a try?_

Elio: _yeah but also just curious_

Elio: _so that means, not a lot of water and place them in sunny spots_

Elio: _right?_

Elio: _how often am I supposed to water them?_

Oliver: _right_

Oliver: _during spring and summer you water them once a week. Autumn and winter you just wait_ _until the soil looks completely dry and then you can give them some water again_

Elio: _ohmygod I feel like I should write all of this down_

Oliver: _you’ll get the hang of it_

Oliver: _I’m sure you’ll be a great plant-parent, don’t worry :)_

Elio: _you have too much faith in my not-so-green thumb Oliver_

Oliver: _if a situation should arise, you have my number_

Elio: _so… does that mean that I’ve got my very own personal plant-emergency contact?_

Oliver: _definitely. Any time you need me_

When Oliver takes a sip of his tea it has gone lukewarm. He can’t bring himself to care. Re-reading the last text he sends, Oliver bites his lip and almost starts regretting everything again.

 _Any time you need me._ What is that even? What is he talking about?

Elio: _any time?_

Oliver holds his breath. Feels his heart pick up its pace and what does Elio even mean?

Elio: _because I’ve gotta tell you, with my ability to keep plants alive, things could get messy real quick_

Oliver lets out the breath he’d been holding, deflating like a balloon. Of course. They’re talking about plants. Not about… not about Elio actually needing Oliver for anything important. Not about Elio thinking about Oliver the way Oliver’s been thinking about Elio.

Oliver: _as long as you use gloves when you re-pot the cacti, you should be fine :)_

Elio: _ohmygod Oliver_

Elio: _I hadn’t even thought about that_

Elio: _what would I do without you_

Groaning, Oliver hides his face in his palms. Is Elio flirting? No, he can’t be. And then, on the other side, if this had been anyone else, Oliver would be sure that flirting was indeed what this is. But it doesn’t make sense- why would Elio flirt with him?

Oliver: _probably feel the pain of spikes all over your hands and then never make the same mistake again_

Oliver: _believe me, we’ve all been there_

Elio: _you’re just saying that to make me feel better_

Oliver: _is it working?_

Elio: _It is_

This time, Oliver bites his lip to keep a ridiculously big smile off of his face. It’s stupid, the only other living creature around is pickles, and pickles always look judgy anyway. Thumb hovering above the keyboard, Oliver contemplates what to answer, when one more text comes in.

Elio: _So, what are you up to?_

Oliver: _uh not much. Having a cup of tea, getting ready to turn in for the night. You?_

Oliver feels like just about fifteen years old again.

Elio: _sitting in an airport_

Elio: _my flight is delayed and there’s a group of girls staring at me_

Elio: _is it weird that it freaks me out a little? Because it definitely does_

Elio: _look at me, being scared of teenage girls. I’m such a pussy_

Frowning, Oliver imagines Elio, alone in an airport being stalked by obsessed fans. He doesn’t like it, not one bit.

Oliver: _I think it’s pretty natural to feel creeped out in a situation like that_

Oliver: _wait are you alone?_

Elio: _well, alone might be a strong word_

Elio: _I’m at an airport_

Oliver: _you know what I mean_

Elio: _yeah, in that sense I’m alone_

Oliver feels a little baffled. He doesn’t know what he expected. For Elio to be circled by security 24/7? Oliver knows that when Elio is in Saint Orobie, he’s usually walking around on his own. But then again, Oliver hadn’t expected Elio to live in a shoebox either. Oliver hesitates. He’s doesn’t want to come off too strong here. He knows that the size of his body generally confuses people, making them expect him to be some strong, forceful brute. He’s not, but he’s also not keen on Elio feeling unsafe. The fact that it’s a group of teenage girls oddly enough doesn’t calm Oliver down either. God knows, they’ve probably got nails as sharp as claws. Once, Oliver heard about some woman getting into a fight where she’d used her stiletto as a weapon. Oliver shudders.

Oliver: _are you going to be alright?_

Elio: _Yeah, don’t worry_

Elio: _I’m just whining, sorry_

Elio: _I should let you sleep_

Oliver almost types out, “I’m not that tired,” but stops himself. He sounds like a kid trying to persuade their parents to let him stay up longer.

Oliver: _don’t be sorry_

Oliver: _and I meant the thing about being your emergency-contact_

Oliver: _any time_

Oliver knows that this can be interpreted in more than one way and he doesn’t care. He’ll let Elio decide what he wants it to mean, even if that means Elio thinking that Oliver is being oddly protective.

Elio: _thank you, Oliver :)_

Oliver pours the rest of the cold tea out into the sink and goes to bed. If he makes up a new fantasy, one where Elio isn’t alone at some faraway airport, then that is no one's business but Oliver’s.

* * *

For about a week, Elio will ask Oliver a new plant-related question per day. It goes something like this. Oliver will be at the shop when Elio wants to know the difference between cacti-soil and regular soil. Oliver will go out to the back where he’ll spend too much time answering the relatively simple question, while he bites his lip to stop smiling too much.

The next day, Oliver is at his parent’s house for dinner, when Elio asks where bonsai trees grow, and Oliver answers with a long text, explaining how bonsai isn’t a specific kind of tree, just a tree that’s cut back and kept small. When Elio texts back, Oliver’s mom sees his name on the screen before Oliver does, earning him a curious look, an intrigued hum.

“Is that the Elio you went to school with?” She asks and Oliver knows that she’s trying to be subtle, but she’s really not.

“Mom,” he chides. “Ever heard about respecting people’s privacy? Especially your kids, you never know what might pop up.” The last bit he mostly adds to scare her off.

“Oliver!” she exclaims, her cheeks going red. His dad snorts but otherwise minds his own business.

“You’re the one who’s snooping,” he reminds her, plastering on his most innocent smile.

“Well, is it?” She asks pointedly, looking at the phone in Oliver’s hands. Oliver sighs. Rubs his cheek to hide a blush and says, “yeah. You know any other Elio?” That earns him a light slap on the shoulder.

“Oh, how nice. How is he doing?”

Oliver can see by the way she sips her coffee that she’s already planning how to ask the question she’s actually curious about: are you dating? 

“Mom. You’re not very subtle you know. Come on, I told you already, you need to work on this.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“We both know what you’re talking about. He’s good, but we’re just friends and no, it’s not a precursor for something more. Just friends,” Oliver says, not really knowing who needs to hear this the most. Himself or his mom.

“Of course, darling,” his mom says, getting up to do whatever moms do.

The next question arrives while he’s making breakfast. His coffee is brewing bread toasting while he’s looking out his kitchen window. It’s snowing, has been all night, so the small atrium is covered in white, and Oliver wonders if it’s the same where Elio is. Oliver can’t help but hope so. It would help him feel like they’re not so far away from each other.

Elio: _the internet says that I need to fertilize my plants- how do I do that?_

Oliver: _you just add it to the water that you use for watering your plants. You can buy some at the grocery store_

Elio: _it’s just that easy?_

Elio: _Well, apparently not. Google says that there are about a thousand different kinds_

Oliver: _it depends what kind of plant you’ve got_

Oliver: _I can always help you if you need it_

Elio: _oh, like bring you to the store with me?_

Elio: _because that might be necessary_

Oliver spends the rest of the day building up scenarios where he goes to the store with Elio. Where fertilizer is just one among many things that they need. Where Oliver goes home with Elio to help him take care of plants before they make dinner.

Oliver really needs to figure out how to stop being so hopeless.

When Oliver once again disappears out in the back to answer Elio if he should get an orchid, which, he really shouldn’t, it’ll be like setting him up for failure from the very beginning, Emily just looks at him as if she knows. As if she knows that Oliver is completely done for.

Every day, Oliver answers questions like _why are plants good for the indoor climate,_ and, _wait, is it true that you can eat aloe vera?_

Every day Oliver fights his own brain when it tries to convince him that Elio is flirting, that Elio is just as interested as Oliver is. Because why does Elio keep asking him all of these questions? He could just as easily google the whole thing. In fact, Elio has already mentioned googling stuff. So why the need for all of these texts?

Maybe he’s just lonely and bored. That’s a plausible reason. Elio had hinted at feeling lonely sometimes, and Oliver can totally imagine him sitting in some hotel room, nothing interesting on the TV, no people to talk to but Oliver.

Oliver needs to get a grip because Elio is most likely just bored.

One night when Oliver is in bed, trying not to think about the fact that for the first day all week, Elio hasn’t asked him about anything. He’s almost succeeded in falling asleep when finally, Elio’s name pops up on his screen. Oliver is only just a little worried about the flood of relief cursing out through his body.

Elio: _I don’t have a window in my bathroom - does that mean that I can’t keep plants in there?_

Oliver: _no, not at all_

Oliver: _I think we can find you some if you want_

Elio: _what about the bedroom? I think I’ve read somewhere that some plants are good for your sleep or something_

Elio: _don’t know if that’s even true haha_

Oliver: _uh, well. You can try with lavender or lady's palm_

Elio: _lavender, is that the one that smells nice?_

Oliver: _Yeah, it is haha_

Elio: _what about your bedroom? Does it have plants?_

Oliver: _I have geraniums on my windowsill_

Oliver: _they’re pretty but the downside is that if you touch them, they smell awful_

Elio: _you’ve got pink, smelly plants in your bedroom?_

Oliver: _well_

Oliver: _yeah_

Elio: _why?_

Oliver: _because they look good with the rest of the room_

Oliver: _and they remind me of home_

Elio: _you had a lot of geraniums at your place?_

Oliver: _yeah, my mom loves them_

Elio: _oh I remember your mom_

Elio: _she made the best cookies ever (don’t tell my mom that I said that)_

Oliver: _haha_

Oliver: _I can’t believe you remember that_

Elio: _oh I do. And your dad was like, the coolest dad of them all_

Oliver: _I bet he’d love to hear that_

Elio: _maybe I will let him know one day_

Elio: _I remember a lot of things, Oliver_

Oliver almost pushes his face into his pillow and screams. Almost, because he’s a grown ass man and he won’t succumb to how he used to deal with overexcitement in his teenage years. Hands shaking, Oliver sucks in a deep breath and types.

Oliver: _Yeah? Like what?_

He doesn’t know what he expects Elio to answer. Doesn’t know, because what he hopes for can’t possibly be the truth.

Elio: _like how you were always playing the bass in music class_

Elio: _and omg, remember Jonathan who always tilted his chair until he fell off?_

Oliver: _that was so stupid. I haven’t seen him in years_

Oliver can’t figure out how to ask Elio if he remembers anything else, so he lets it slide. They probably don’t remember the same things anyway.

The one-plant-related-question-per-day thing slowly morphs into Oliver texting Elio about nothing and everything throughout the whole day. Sometimes, it’s Elio who sends Oliver a picture of some fancy dish with ingredients that Oliver has never heard of before, and he likes how Elio always follows up with a rating. So far, the pufferfish is not a favorite, but the dragon fruit was apparently good enough for Elio to have Oliver promise that he’ll try one if he ever gets the chance. Oliver almost asks Elio to bring one home for him. Almost, because Oliver is a chicken and a master at feigning nonchalance. At least he hopes so. Other times, it’s Oliver sending pictures of pickles the cat, stating that he isn’t entirely sure that pickles even likes him.

Oliver isn’t sure if he’s always been this infatuated with Elio. If he’s always felt like Elio would always be a part of him, a part of his childhood, his whole upbringing. Maybe it’s the constant ongoing conversations that they seem to have, but by the time January is coming to an end, Oliver knows that he’s screwed. He’s not even sure that the realization is news, or just that - a realization. He’s always been saving a spot in his heart for Elio Perlman, and as it turns out, that spot might be more than just a little shelve - it might be the whole place.

Memories seem to pop up all the time, and Oliver finds himself staring into nothingness as he thinks about elementary school. About Elio stepping up to him when their last class was over when no one was left behind but them. How Elio had been so, so close when he’d joked about kissing Oliver.

“ _You don’t think I can do it_ ,” Elio had accused. Almost as if he was daring Oliver to take the next step. Oliver doesn’t know if the glint in Elio’s eyes had actually been there, or if it’s a mere product of Oliver’s imagination. Oliver had swallowed and shaken his head from side to side, as he stared down at Elio’s mouth. There’s no doubt that the want to lean in had been one hundred percent real on Oliver’s behalf. To be honest, Oliver has never forgiven himself for cracking a joke about Elio being an idiot. Has never stopped regretting how he had stepped away from Elio, picked up his bag, and gone home. Elio had waved at Oliver when he got on his bike and it’s a miracle how Oliver didn’t drive himself straight into a wall from how dizzy he felt.

Oliver makes dinner, does his laundry, cleans his bathroom, and all the while he thinks about Elio.

Every spot in his house reminds him of Elio now. When he dusts off the windowsill in his bedroom, he thinks about Elio goofing around while they played football. Thinks about Elio tackling him to the ground, not being violent or forceful, just playful, as if he was seeking out boundaries, trying to figure out how far he could push Oliver. God, Elio had been touching Oliver all the time, always finding excuses. Oliver could live on a simple pat on the shoulder, a look in his direction for days. He still does.

One night when he’s in bed, the only light in his bedroom being the one coming from the moon, Oliver can only find one explanation. One reason why Elio had been like that. Elio had been flirting. Elio had probably been hoping for Oliver to kiss him, been wanting Oliver’s touch as much as Oliver had wanted Elio’s, and he never did anything.

Oliver could’ve kissed Elio Perlman if he hadn’t been such a sissy.

Grunting out in frustration, Oliver tries to swallow down the massive regret that comes with that realization. He should’ve done it when he had the chance.

Blindly reaching for his phone when it buzzes, Oliver squints at the light from the screen.

Elio: _would it be cool if I called you right now?_

Elio: _I know it’s probably getting late at your place_

Oliver re-reads the first text about seven times before he answers, heart racing.

Oliver: _Yeah, sure. You can call_

When his phone buzzes with a call from Elio, Oliver pulls the covers up to his chest and clears his throat.

“Hello?” He says, heat rising to his cheeks.

“Hey,” Elio answers, and god, he sounds so soft, a little tired and Oliver swears he feels it all the way down his spine.

“Hi,” Oliver says, instantly feeling stupid. “Are you alright?” The question just slips out on its own. It’s the first time that they’ve talked over the phone, and Oliver can’t help but worry about why Elio needs to talk.

“Yeah, I’m fine. A little tired and just- I just wanted to talk to you for real, if that’s alright?”

“You can always talk to me,” Oliver says, and it definitely comes too fast and too easy. Elio chuckles and Oliver waits. Waits for Elio to change the subject, to let Oliver down easy, because Oliver is a fool and Elio would be nice like that.

“That was kind of what I hoped you’d say.” Oliver’s heart fills with hope.

“How far away are you right now?” Oliver asks because he needs to know. Needs to know if Elio can see the moon too or if he’s in a place where people don’t speak English, a place Oliver doesn’t know what looks like.

“Not that far. We’re even in the same timezone.”

Oliver sighs and scoots further into his bed. _Good._

“How was your day?” Oliver asks.

“A bit long. Not bad, but…” Elio trails off, and Oliver is pretty sure that “a bit long” is code for “it’s been about forty-eight hours long.”

“You sound tired,” Oliver states.

“Shit, is it really that evident?” Elio chuckles.

“A little.”

“You’re right,” Elio concedes. “We’re almost done filming though, so it’s fine. It’s just… I really don’t want to seem ungrateful or anything but sometimes the thing I need the most is someone who’ll just treat me like a normal person.”

“They don’t treat you right?” Oliver asks, feeling a little out of his depths.

“No, they do. And that’s the thing- everybody seems to be overcompensating, and like, it’s fine, because everyone is nice, but sometimes I just need some peace and quiet. To just, you know— talk to someone who hasn’t spend the night outside my hotel —not that I’m not grateful— or, someone who’s not my boss or colleague. Just… shit, I’m sorry, this is stupid.”

“I don’t think that’s stupid,” Oliver promises.

“It’s just really nice, talking to someone who knows me from before. I’m sorry if I sound like an ungrateful idiot.”

“I like talking to you too. And I don’t think you’re an idiot, not at all,” Oliver says, wishing that he could just reach out and give Elio a hug. Anything to make him feel better.

“Yeah? I hope so, with all the plant-spam I’ve been sending your way,” Elio chuckles.

“I told you I’d be your plant emergency contact.”

“You did. How was your day?”

Elio’s voice is so gentle and soothing and Oliver really really likes him. This is gonna provide him with enough fantasy fuel for weeks, if not months.

“Good. A little quieter in the shop than usual, but otherwise fine.”

“Are you in bed right now?”

“Yeah. What about you?”

“Me too.”

The pang that hits Oliver in the chest feels a lot like longing and something else, something that Oliver really can’t let himself think about.

“You want me to let you sleep?”

“No, not if it’s okay with you.”

“It’s okay. I can stay.”

Elio is being silly. Oliver would stay up all night talking to him if that’s what he wanted.

“Good. What are you gonna do tomorrow?”

“Uh, tomorrow I’m going to start planning which plants to order for the early spring.”

“There are plants for early spring?”

“Yeah. Like, snowdrops, daffodils, and windflower.”

“Will you send me pictures? When they arrive I mean.”

“Of course.”

There’s silence for a minute, and Oliver swears that he can hear Elio breathing.

“Which one is your favorite?”

“Probably the snowdrops. They’re very delicate and one of the first things that bloom after the winter, so it’s difficult not to love them.”

 _They remind me of you,_ is what Oliver really means, but that’s too much even for Oliver to think about.

Elio hums, and Oliver imagines him with his head on a white hotel pillow, curls splayed out everywhere. “What are you going to do tomorrow?” Oliver asks, pulling his spare pillow up against his chest.

“Uh… we’re filming, and then I think there’s a dinner with the cast.” Elio doesn’t sound as intrigued by dinners as he does by snowdrops.

From that night on, Oliver always tells Elio goodnight before he falls asleep. Sometimes it’s through a text because Elio is busy or around other people, other times it’s to the sound of static and Elio’s breathing on the other side of the line. Oliver doesn’t care which way it is. The point is that he gets to say goodnight to Elio every night and it’s without a doubt the best way to end the day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to talk to me on Tumblr: [Kiros18](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kiros18)

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to talk to me on Tumblr: [Kiros18](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/kiros18) ❤️


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